


Wish You Were Here

by strangelysweet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 90s Criminal AU, Aged-Up Characters, Akira and Ryuji are nasty crimeboys, Bank Robbery, Blood and Injury, Car Chases, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, M/M, but they're not actually that nasty, gets a bit saucy but only a little, not beta read but i fixed a few errors and republished it lmao, oh and they are NOT high schoolers lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangelysweet/pseuds/strangelysweet
Summary: Ryuji and Akira skip from motel to motel, pull guns out at convenience stores and banks alike, and they wouldn't have it any other way.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> please read with caution:  
> there are some scenes with some sensitive content in this story, so read at your own risk

Ryuji held the bullet between his index finger and his thumb, rolling it over his bottom lip in deep concentration. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he clocked the car behind him. It had been following them for about half an hour now, and the driver seemed to be staring intently at him through the windshield. Ryuji scowled, letting the bullet drop and land at his collarbones where the necklace sat, the chain hot on his skin in the stifling air of his car.  
Akira lit his cigarette with a strike of a match and switched on the radio.

Ryuji adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, cracking his neck from side to side. As the light flashed amber, he hit the pedal and the car accelerated violently. By his side, Akira had his feet propped up on the dashboard, nonchalantly humming along to the radio while lacing his combat boots with red shoelaces. He glanced up, acknowledging the glint of metal in the side mirror of their car.

“Ryuji, babe, he’s gonna start shooting soon.” Akira drawled, dropping his legs form the dashboard, reaching for his handgun and seamlessly loading it, the bullets like coins into a greedy vending machine.

  
Ryuji only grunted, eyes focused on the road ahead of him, knuckles white in the vice grip he had on the leather steering wheel. He let his mouth open as Akira pressed the cigarette to his lips, letting him take a drag. The smoke curled up into the ceiling of the car, hovering there before rushing out of the open window, as quickly as Akira leaned out and shot at the car’s tires.  
“License plate?” Ryuji yelled over the gunshots, flicking a glance as his lover slid back into his seat, still humming along to the heavy guitar.

“CSI5 NET. Police, but not _too_ important.” Akira said, pulling at the hem of his shirt as to fan himself from the heavy July heat. The car swerved behind them, its tire blown flat. A few other cars on the street of the empty, dusty town stopped and pulled over, not wanting to get involved.

Smart, really.

They’d be blown out of the water immediately and that would be one more thing they’d have to clean up. Ryuji sped through light, hands relaxing on the wheel as he went on to the freeway.

“They’ll call for back-up soon, so we’ll want to bounce.” He said, grinning at Akira as he offered him another drag. He placed a kiss on his knuckles, blowing out smoke as he did so.

Akira smiled, his cold grey eyes soft as he turned up the radio.

“We should send them a postcard.”

After hours of driving in the incessant heat, Ryuji pulled over at a clean looking motel next to a convenience store. He peeled himself off of the leather seat, leaving the door open as he went to refill the gas tank. He leaned against the car as the gas meter rose, white tank top sticking to his skin with sweat.

“ _Fuck_ , it’s hotter than Satan’s armpit out here.” He cursed, stretching out his bad knee. Akira poked his head from out of the car.

“Babe, do you want to grab some painkillers and some water?” He said, a worried undertone in his lilting voice. Ryuji sighed, brushing his fingers against his lover’s face.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, sweetheart.”

He sighed fondly, drawing his hand back as Akira got out of the car. In a quick second, he grabbed his waist, pulling him back to whisper in his ear:

“Grab some whiskey, too. I have spare change in the glove compartment.”

Akira winked, nodding as he returned to the doorway of the car. He pulled out a 20 dollar bill and slammed the compartment shut, making sure the auto-lock stuck.

As he stepped into the convenience store, the cold air conditioning soothed the sweltering heat of the outside like ice to a burn. He grabbed a box of ibuprofen, a large bottle of water and a bottle of whiskey. The cashier looked bored but perked up when she saw the tall young man saunter up to the counter.

“Heya, how can I help?” She chimed, eyes lighting up behind her thick-framed glasses. Akira remained expressionless, placing the items on the surface and sliding the bill over the counter. He made eye contact with the young cashier, trying to keep his face as hidden as possible with his messy hair.

The girl was short and had a round face, with large, doe-like eyes. She looked about 15, with long ginger hair that fell past her shoulders. Her name tag read “Futaba” in messy handwriting. She rang up the items and attempted to strike up a conversation.

“So, where you headed?”

Akira blinked, pulling out a cigarette from his pack and placing it in his mouth.  
“I don’t know yet. Depends on where’s closest.”

Futaba grinned, leaning on her elbows as she said “Hey, you should stay the night. It might look like any other spot on the map, but our morning coffee is pretty wicked.”

Akira flicked a match against the box, the flame hissing as he looked Futaba dead in the eye, unimpressed. She simply beamed back, hand resting on the yellow landline.

“It’s cheap too.”

Ryuji stepped through the sliding doors of the store, sighing in contempt as the cold air washed over him. He saw Akira standing at the counter and slid up behind him, sliding a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Yo, ‘Kira, what’s the 411?”

Akira sighed, flicking ash off of his cigarette.

“I got us a room because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive while totally hammered.” He threw the keyring up a few inches into the air, catching them again with the quiet clink of metal.

Ryuji ran a hand through his bleached blonde hair, throwing a haphazard grin at Futaba.

“That’s chill. The tank is full and I think the car is melting, but other than that, everything’s just peachy.”

Akira sighed, blowing out a huff of smoke.

“ _Never_ say ‘just peachy’ again.”

Ryuji only laughed and took the whiskey from the counter.

Futaba cleared her throat.

“So… Would you like two rooms? I’m sure we have space-“

“Nah, just the one will be fine,” Ryuji said, pulling at the lid of the bottle and taking a sip.

The room had curtains the color of a washed-out sky, with gauzy sheets and a large fan in the right corner of the room. Akira opened the windows out as far as they could, perching on the edge as the day bled out onto the horizon. Ryuji placed their shared leather duffle bag on the bed, making sure the guns were stashed in the drawers of the bedside table. He peeled his white vest off, throwing it over the fan as he came up to Akira from behind, arms sliding around his waist.

“You smell good.” He muttered into the crook of the young man’s neck, closing his eyes to the warm breeze of the summer evening. They both sat there for a while, just breathing in the air as the sun set.  
As the stars started blinking themselves into formation, Ryuji opened the bottle again and brought out the portable radio tuning in to their favorite station. Akira was on the floor, sighing into the weak gust of the fan as it merely blew hot air around the room. He held Ryuji’s hand through the heat, though.

No amount of sweltering, stifling air could stop him from running his fingertips over the scars and bumps from their escapades. He found himself lingering on the one Ryuji got when they first met.

The blonde was holding a gun to the head of a bank clerk, jeans ripped and worn soft around the knees. He was calm but firm, demanding a good sum of money for the life of his hostage. Akira saw how the police officer behind him grouped them together based on their looks: two grungy teens in one place usually meant trouble. He was cuffed upside the head with the butt of a gun, and so he punched the officer right back.

Eventually, he was shot at.

Akira remembered ducking behind the counter, panting as Ryuji shot to warn, never to kill. But the police shot to silence. A bullet skimmed over his left hand, causing him to grunt in pain. Akira vaulted over the surface as the distracted blonde was unaware of the gun trained on his head, knocking him to the floor as the shot fired right over his head.

Ryuji tossed him a gun, and the two fought together against a common enemy, ducking and standing back to back with each other, placing newfound trust in complete strangers.

They escaped together and had been together ever since.

It was almost three years now.

Akira had been 18, Ryuji only a few months behind.

Akira kissed the scar gently, then hummed in approval as Ryuji ran a hand through his hair. The blonde leaned down, kissing his forehead, then his nose and then his mouth. He was so gentle as if pushing too hard would break Akira and his delicate features, but Akira pulled him over firmly enough to show how resilient he could be.

Ryuji tasted of whiskey and smoke, hot and heavy against his body. He kissed him again and again, savoring every taste of the fiery afterglow of flames on the tongue.

His bullet charm was cold against Akira’s chest, keeping him grounded even though every moment with him was like a thrilling fever dream that offered to whisk him away into his wildest fantasies. He panted against Ryuji’s open mouth, feeling as if he would burn into ash if he didn’t touch him. His hands were rough and strong in his hair, pulling gently, easing little noises of approval from the back of Akira’s throat. The smell of whiskey was overpowering, driving them through the dark heat of midnight in July.

Ryuji felt like he was weightless, gripping at the man in front of him with every fiber of his being screaming how much he wanted and loved him, enough to drive him mad. He could only get so close before he had to pull away for air, letting the oxygen feed the flames.

The only thing that could motivate him enough to stop clawing at Akira was the police sirens.

Red and blue painted the room through the open window, leaving the pair to freeze in shock for a mere second, then spring into action like clockwork:

Akira grabbed the guns, throwing one to Ryuji as he slung the duffle bag over his shoulder, his vest barely pulled on in time for the megaphone to blare out a warning. Akira pushed the door open, cocking his gun and edging down the corridor, motioning silently for Ryuji to follow. They successfully made it to the front of the motel, Ryuji making a beeline for the car while Akira went into the store to grab any extra necessities.

He ran his hand along the shelf, grabbing packs of cigarettes, packets of snack food for the road and a few bottles of alcohol. It didn’t matter which kind; they were lucky enough to have this oasis in front of them. As he turned to leave, it was only then he realized Futaba was still at the counter.

She was asleep, head resting on her forearms.

Then a couple of things happened at once:

The sirens blared again, waking Futaba up and causing her to see Akira holding a gun and stolen goods.

Ryuji watched in the rearview mirror as Akira snapped to attention as the cops poured in from the other entrance.

“ _Fuck_.”

Akira had to think fast.

He let the stolen goods drop to the floor, vaulting over the counter and grabbing Futaba by the collar of her button-up uniform shirt. He placed the gun to her temple and said, very calmly, to the police officers: “Move and I’ll shoot her then you.”

The girl whimpered, blood running like ice in her veins. The officers seemed stuck, torn on shooting him but shooting through Futaba as well. They trained their shaking guns at him, obviously not used to putting their training to proper use.

“I’m going to leave now. I’ll take her to the exit, leave her there and then you’ll let me drive off.” Akira continued, pulling out a cigarette and a matchbox, lighting the cigarette and inhaling deeply.

He slowly moved with Futaba in front of him towards the exit, letting the officers know he was not going to harm her if they cooperated. Futaba was crying silently, fingers clutching at the hem of her shirt. Akira swooped down to pick up the items he dropped and quickly stepped outside. Immediately, he ran for the car, letting the girl go and shooting warning shots at the glass doors.  
Ryuji was staring intently as his lover ran for the car, opening the door as he pulled out and started moving. Akira leaped for the door, slamming it closed as he hit the leather seat.

“Drive, babe,” he said, voice hoarse from running so fast. Ryuji didn’t even need to be told to slam the pedal to the floor. He sped out, one hand on the wheel, the other grasping Akira’s like a lifeline.

Soon, the police cars followed, the sirens droning on until they became white noise. Ryuji swerved, coming off the high way and onto a smaller intersection, drawing the police away from easy routes to receive help from. Akira rolled down the window, cigarette hanging from his lips as he shot at the windscreens of the police cars. One swerved and ran off the road. Three more were still on their tail.

“Wicked shot, sweetheart.” he grinned, ruffling Akira’s hair playfully as he slid back onto the leather seat. he sped up, swerving the car to the left, leading one police car on the lane to the farthest left, the other centered in the middle of the highway. Immediately, he turned a hard right, leading the two cars into each other, checking they collided in the rearview mirror.

“Haha! Nice moves, babe, you completely totaled them.”

Akira stuck his torso out of the window, flipping off the final car.

A gunshot ripped through the air and Akira yelled in pain. A bullet had found its way into Akira’s forearm, splattering blood over the white finish of the car.

“Fuck, ow, that _stings_!” he hissed between his teeth. Blood was dripping down the side of the car like wax dripping down a candle.

Ryuji gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned bone-white.

“Hang in there, sweetheart. I just need to deal with this asshole.”

The final police car sped up, neck and neck with Ryuji as he rummaged around the glove compartment while keeping an eye on the moaning Akira trying to deal with the pain of having a bullet stuck in his arm. He finally wrapped his fingers around what he was looking for, pulling the pin with his teeth as he threw the grenade into the window of the car. He put on a final burst of speed and swerved from the exploding car that soon faded to a cloud of smoke on the road behind him. He pulled over once they were far away enough.

Akira was writhing his the seat, hands sticky with blood.

“Ah, fuck, that _really_ hurts.” He murmured, teeth clamped together. Ryuji’s hands hovered over the wounds as he felt his mind go at a hundred miles an hour.

What if he couldn’t help him?  
What if the blood loss was too severe and he couldn’t get him to a hospital?

What if he can’t save him?  
He shook his head vigorously, reaching for the alcohol at Akira’s feet.

“Hold on, sweetheart, this is going to hurt.”

He poured the liquid onto the wound, trying to shut out the sounds of groaning behind gritted teeth. He ran his fingers through Akira’s hair to soothe him, whispering calming words as he took the arm in his hand. The bullet wasn’t too embedded in the flesh, but it was still going to be a pain to get out. He grabbed a random item from the glove compartment and told Akira to bite down on it.

He felt the warmth of the blood on his fingers before he even processed how hard it was to brace himself for the muffled sounds of pain coming from his lover. He dug his fingers into the skin, finding the bullet and he pulled. The flesh gave way before the squirming and writhing tore the bullet free of Ryuji’s grasp. He placed a kiss on Akira’s sweaty temple, trying to swallow the taste of bile back down his throat. He took hold of the bullet again, pulling quicker and harder than before.

The cursed thing dislodged and the blood came again, soaking Ryuji’s hands in sticky heat. He tore off a strip from the wound dressing in the compartment, letting it soak up the blood. Akira was panting, his body finally relaxing from the tension from the pain. Ryuji dressed the wound, hands shaking as he desperately tried to steady them.

Outside the car, Ryuji washed the blood off of his hands and the white finish of the car. Akira was still in the passenger seat, breathing shakily from the recovery. He leaned in the window, a relieved kiss pressing onto Akira’s lips.

“Hey, ‘Kira, it’s alright. You’re fine, everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He was assuring himself as much as he was assuring the dark-haired young man. He pressed his forehead to Akira’s matching their breathing as cicadas’ chirping subsided in the almost silent sunrise. Akira kissed Ryuji gently as a way of thanking him, ruffling his hands through the bleached blonde hair.

“Thank you, Ryuji.”

Ryuji opened the door and sat on the floor of the car, resting his arms on Akira’s thigh.

“I love you, ‘Kira.”

“I love you too, babe.”

He lit another cigarette, watching as the smoke rose into the early morning sky. It was pleasantly cool, with a slight breeze stirring the almost silent morning. Ryuji and Akira sat in the front seats of a white car, humming along to the radio and re-lacing combat boots with red shoelaces, sharing a cigarette and sending a postcard to the local police station with a photo of a sunrise and a clean looking motel.

**Author's Note:**

> be gay do crime


End file.
